


You'll Always Be My Good Boy

by Nolfalvrel



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Animal Ears, Bottom Connor, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Praise Kink, Connor wears puppy ears, Doggy Style, Established Relationship, Lingerie, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Puppy Play, Rough Sex, Self-Lubrication, Shameless Smut, Slightly - Freeform, Smut, Stockings, Top Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24247726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nolfalvrel/pseuds/Nolfalvrel
Summary: The coup de grace is a tail that fluffs out from behind him, one that Markus’ whirring processors snidely inform him is a ‘Shiba Inu’ tail. Snidely, as though they weren’t the ones responsible for running ‘Cave_Man_Stare_Volume_One.’He’s not sure how processors can be snide, but the flashing yellow text on his HUD is very passive aggressive.“Markus,” Connor repeats, and it’s still a little winded, as though nerves are taking the air out of him. “You’re here.”------------When Markus finds Connor waiting for him wearing puppy ears and a tail, things get heated.Quickly.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 149





	You'll Always Be My Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Not much here other than I've been in a long standing writing funk, and the only way that seems to be pulling me out of it right now is writing long, rambling porn.
> 
>  **Note** : Markus is referred to a couple times as the Herald, because in my headcanons its the name the media circus bestows him post android revolution.
> 
>  **Special Anatomy Note** : Connor's 'special circumstances' are basically that he lacks the front components for sex, (penis and/or vagina) as this component was not considered necessary during his field testing, although he does still have an anal cavity as those are built standard for every model to avoid having to remodel them. If you continue, you will find that Connor has more than found a way to make up for this :3.

Gorgeous. That’s the only way to describe him.

But Connor always looks that way. Immaculate, preserved flesh-- plastic of course, in the way they’re all plastic, those that are androids, but Connor’s different. He’s pretty, unmistakably, with the chocolate brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, and the skin that’s speckled like the perfect frozen confection of cookies and cream but--

But yeah, maybe that’s how Markus would usually describe it.

Connor’s frozen sweetness; a demure mask plastered over his face with a caulking so thick it’s really impossible to pry any sort of emotion loose. 

Except in moments like these. 

With Markus.

Or, maybe, he doesn’t just quite know Markus is there yet.

Connor is curled on his back within the coiled expanse of their white furred moon chair, backlit by the pulsing glow of the aquarium wall. As the various fish cycle past, their tiny LEDs do little to disrupt the warm blue light of the tank as it pours over Connor in dreamy waves.

Markus blinks.

Dreamy? Isn’t that wrong?

He’s never felt more awake in his life.

Connor is pulled in an almost cat-like position within the chair, face up, legs curled, arched feet cycling every so often. Hands close to his chest as he idly flicks his coin high into the air only to catch it again and repeat in the same precise motions. Back curved supple and feline, and in a way that is exceptionally delusive considering the unmistakable dog ears attached to his thick brown curls.

Perky and tan and honey-brown, and twitching every so often in the way that delighted dogs do.

Admittedly, Markus hadn’t been expecting to walk in on the sight that greets him. Not necessarily a complaint, because Markus had learned, post deviancy and the entire odyssey that encapsulated the almost too peaceful considering the shit they dealt with protest, that he could be a fan of _some_ surprises under the right circumstances. 

This probably makes that list.

Markus watches the cusp of a smile on Connor’s face as he plays; because it can only be called playing, with a touch of skill, being that Connor’s hands are encased in thick plush paws. He must be so truly distracted by the motions, to not notice Markus in the doorway, setting his coat distractedly atop the bed, loosening his tie so _he can finally breathe_ and say--

“Connor?” Dumbly, like the suave, brilliant, inviolable Herald he has proven himself to be. Markus finishes it with a Mickey Mouse impression of, “...what are you doing?”

Connor’s head snaps round to stare at him, eyes wide, not even noticing the _plonk!_ of the missed coin as it bounces off his hair and rolls away to punctuate the awkward silence that invites itself into the room with them. 

You could hear a fly cough, in that moment.

Markus might have used that time to put together something more intelligible as a follow up to his beyond sensational interrogation skills had he not been fixated on the way Connor’s ears jump to attention.

The dog ones, that is. Straight up. Like a dog looking for a treat.

_They’re emotive._

He’s pretty sure in that moment, his system isolates the subroutine labelled ‘Verbal Articulation’ and deletes it as collateral to make room for the code of his rapidly filling d--

“Markus,” Connor breathes finally, breaking the spell, somewhat. 

It is maybe a little strange that they are both acting so surprised to see each other, being that this is the shared bedroom of their apartment, where they typically come to and bed each other every night, and only don’t when it can’t be helped. 

But well. Markus is shy about sex things; and this is _very_ certainly a sex thing.

And Connor’s the other left foot in this dance. His face is almost scarlet. He’s gone with the red program today, Markus muses, as Connor shifts to sit up, placing hands between his folded knees. Markus drinks him in, this new position, and--

\-- _And **thankgodheloosenedthattie**_ \--

\-- _cause holy shit, Connor’s wearing the ears, and not much else._

That might be a slight exaggeration. But it’s still pretty close, because Markus could tell, before, he would be greeted to a lot of skin, but fully realized, Connor’s wearing the equivalent of a sleeveless bodysuit. Soft blue, with a halter neck and bare plunging back, and high cut on the hips to accentuate the tininess of his waist. Around his neck is a bow, white, and around his paw-mitts are bows, blue, and he’s got on stockings, gartered white mesh fishnets that come over the knees. 

The coup de grace is a tail that fluffs out from behind him, one that Markus’ whirring processors snidely inform him is a ‘Shiba Inu’ tail. Snidely, as though they weren’t the ones responsible for running ‘Cave_Man_Stare_Volume_One.’

He’s not sure how processors can be snide, but the flashing yellow text on his HUD is very passive aggressive.

“Markus,” Connor repeats, and it’s still a little winded, as though nerves are taking the air out of him. “You’re here.”

“Yes,” Markus confirms.

The android’s LED lights up as a pink little ‘O’. “Did you... have any additional work that might preoccupy you this evening?”

“Yes,” Markus replies blankly, before he pulls a little bit of himself up from down south to hastily correct, “I mean no, I don’t, I fucked with North--I mean, _finished_! Finished with North. Finished, you know, like,” Markus gestures frantically with his hands, lifting an imaginary box from one side to the other, “As in doing it-- _fuck_ , I mean doing _chores_. Dammit, why am I--Connor, I just--Connor,” His tongue can’t make the words work, and he feels clumsy, like he’s handling a brush with his toes. Markus groans. 

Weakly, rubbing his eyes, nose scrunched, he confesses, “Connor, I really badly just want to kiss you.”

“Oh,” Connor responds, head tilting. 

Then he breaks the dam. Five little words that wreck right through fracturing will.

“Is there anything stopping you?”

‘Cave_Man_Stare_Volume_One’ whirs and clicks into the ‘Cave_Man_Aggressive_Walk_Cycle’ subroutine.

Markus strides forward, tossing his tie, as Connor leaps from the chair to barrel into his arms. Pink lips eager and succulent and begetting a headiness in mere moments from the lack of ventilation, and it’s unfair that Connor’s the ‘superior’ model and could probably easily dive with the fish in their tank, because his mouth is slick and wet and sweet but _Markus_ cannot go without breathing. So he releases, gasping, hands sliding along Connor’s waist, under the slip of that blue suit hem high at the hips, to stroke along soft skin. 

Connor’s pawed-fingers encompass Markus’ face, set on his cheeks as though bearing a fine jewel. And the adoration Markus finds in Connor’s eyes as the other rests his forehead against his own, watching Markus fight for his breath, makes Markus feel simultaneously unworthy and priceless, and balancing on that to find some equilibrium is vertiginous. 

Connor surges forward, eager, wanting, and Markus lets him take, lets him lick over his mouth like he’s lapping at water. Puppylike kisses, Markus realizes, eyes observing Connor at half-mast. He wonders if it’s part of a new program, or if it is of Connor’s own volition, but then concludes he doesn’t care.

It’s sexy and cute, an expression of Connor’s body that he struggles to make happen with his features, and Markus yanks him flush, until Connor’s chest swells and squishes against the rock of his own. He presses at the dip of Connor’s back, hard, forcing, until Connor arches and they’re together down there too. 

Connor gasps, once, loud, before continuing his small, quick licks along Markus’ jaw. Markus moans, his cock pooling with a budding arousal, a hot and throbbing flush of passion that has him prodding against Connor’s own smooth groin. He holds Connor against him as he bends him back, using his sturdier frame to his advantage. 

They had built the RK800 as a pursuit prototype, alloys strong but light, fast enough to fly over rooftops.

The RK200 had been intended to carry a man to the end of his life. He outweighs Connor by a good fifty pounds, which he puts to advantage in the only place he can. 

Still, Connor’s slippery at the best of times, a sultry snake, an eel that curls and undulates along Markus during sex, until the moment he’s finally trapped by the bulk of his lover, held in place to be fucked.

And boy, Markus thinks as he feels Connor nibbling along his jugular, is Markus intending for him to be fucked.

Markus roves a possessive hand beneath tight fabric, feeling the simulated sweat that has begun to pool in the deep grotto of Connor’s spine, skin a velvet texture under his fingers. He grinds forward again, pressing his thick trapped cock to Connor’s groin. The sensation has Connor chasing him back, moaning.

“Oooohh,” Connor’s lips press quickly and wetly to the grazed stubble of Markus’ neck, fast nips, little _pops_ sounding off as they disconnect. He shudders and bucks, thigh hooking to reel Markus against him. The thick plush of his thighs flexing tight and trapping, so that Markus’ dick slides against him more firmly. Markus indulges a favourite pastime, drawing hands down to cup the round cheeks of his ass, kneading as they both hump. Connor yips. The golden coil of tail flickers ecstatically. 

Markus wants to know oh-so-badly what placed this idea in Connor’s head. He wants to thank the thread, the ad, the suggestee, with a kneeling glorious worshipping prayer. He draws his synth-skin away from the pads of his fingers, asking, as his hands glide up to rest over the pebbles of nipples, slipped beneath the blue nylon. Connor trembles, ears fluttering, letting through the interface, letting the bare scorch of the connection burst over now whitening peaks. He squirms, but keeps himself hooked close, burying into Markus’ shoulder. Letting the sensations he’s feeling bleed across--

\-- _so hot, wet, going to drip, am dripping, ruining the carpet, his suit, he’s going to fuck me in his suit(?), big, he’s so big, I just **want**_ \--

And buried there, beneath the overwhelming pulses of greedy, consuming thirst, is a slivered thought thinly crackling through the unfettered desire drowning Markus. The passing suggestion of an AX400, thousands of miles away. Exchanged in a clandestine, gushing interconnection. The words _he’ll love_ and _puppy_ and _ears_ and _smutty_ dimly friz through the connection, but--

\--but Markus is still trapped on-- _Connor’s dripping on the carpet?_ \--

He feels, then, the wet beginning to accumulate on his pants thigh.

“Connor,” Markus whines, embarrassingly so, because he does get a touch whiny in the earlier moments of sex. He shudders then, as Connor issues a croon of his own, high pitched, almost begging. Kicked puppy soft. “Ohhhh, _fuck_ , Connor.” He has Connor bent over so far backward the android’s single standing, socked foot has begun to slide. 

The thought that his dress pants are a premium silk, the D.C. conference worthy kind, ghosts through Markus, but he so incredibly does-not-give-a-fuck when Connor begins to rub himself along his leg. 

“Do you want to fuck me?” 

“Yes baby.” It’s sleazy erotic, but the good kind, and it stirrs everything up so delightfully. They grind and Connor whimpers.

“Are you going to fuck me, Mr. Manfred?” Connor mewls, yet in a way that’s new and daring, and the moniker is the dangerous fizzle-spark of a light switch, an authority kink coming into play. Markus growls and grabs across Connor’s hips and that stunning sharp chin and kisses him rough, till the flesh begins to swell. 

Kiss swollen. A favourite term, Markus thinks as he plunders, laving into Connor’s gasping mouth. He lifts Connor then, dragging him back towards the circle of the moon chair, the other android gripping tight, single foot still outstretched beneath them. When they come to a stop, Markus huffs Connor higher into his arms. 

But then Connor pulls away, and Markus lets him. Feeling the attached tail wagging as Connor pants against his lips, once more cradling his jaw. Pink LED bright and glaring, especially under the cool blue diffuse, as Connor nips Markus’ nose.

Connor pulls his hooked leg back, slides it slow and slick down the length of Markus’ own as he gets his feet under him, and Markus’ hands come loose round him, though Connor quickly places a paw over the one cupping his cheek. Eyes closed blissfully as he slides it to his neck. Keeping it pinned there softly as he turns against Markus, letting him feel the silk of his skin, wrapped by the bow collar, until he pauses. Tilts that same long neck back, pressing the flesh of his ass against the RK200’s cock.

Tail arched high and still and to the side.

Connor whimpers, “I want to be your good boy, Markus.”

Markus trembles. And Connor swallows, Markus can feel it in his neck, feels a rigidness coat him, like he’s steeling himself.

“I can be s-such a good, _good_ boy.”

Saccharine sweet, Connor stutters once. And Markus is more than endeared by it, stumbling himself over a, “F-fuck!” As he squeezes his free hand tight to the other’s waist, burying it down and round quickly to Connor’s inner thigh. Fingers twitching over the bared milky throat. 

He rocks forward, slapping Connor’s hip in indication to move, and Connor bends forward agreeably, but looks back at Markus over his shoulder, eyes wide. Tail wagging hesitantly as he leans to place his hands on the top of the moon chair. A confirming glance, Connor checking if he really had done _good_ , and fuck, Markus almost has to shut down the ejaculation routine right there--

\--has to start coding some blocks in place because he wants to finger Connor, wants to prolong this tenuous sinful lechery, wants to make him feel so incredibly, wholly loved--

\--Connor’s back is arched, a perfect curve--

\--Round ass perked like a pin-up model--

\--Shuffling little tail--

\--Nervous, twitching ears--

\--Perfect huge puppy eyes--

\--God, Markus needs to fuck him. He grins back weakly, reassuringly reaching a hand to pat Connor’s soft curls. Almost regretting it when at the touch he wants to do nothing more than continue stroking its gentle texture. He pulls the hand back shakily.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” Markus manages, and Connor does so, again immediately looking questioningly for approval. Tail and ears high.

Markus swallows a scream of _’cute’_. One cheek barely pulling into a stiff grin over gritted teeth.

He ignores himself, for the moment, letting his cock remain trapped and tormented and tearing because he _knows_ the moment it kisses air he’s going to want to stick it inside Connor. Fuck him rough, and he wants to do that just--

\--Not now, later, when he’s punished and perked Connor’s own sex. 

As Markus kneels he braces his hands on either side of the chair, and white globes come into view, revealing buttons on the gusset of the suit to hold it in place. Convenient.

Markus snaps them apart slowly, revealing Connor’s tiny pucker of a hole. There is not much else there, the front smooth. While all _standard_ androids were built with an internal cavity and ports for optional gential components, the idea of optionally equipping a transitory _prototype_ with such expensive equipment had likely been thought wholly unnecessary and laughed out of the Cyberlife labs. 

Ergo, not only does Connor have a ken-doll front crotch, but he also had not been equipped with the standard ports at manufacture to be able to add one later without remodelling. Connor, however, had expressed little discontent on the matter since coupling with Markus, instead retrofitting lines of WR codes and chassis feedback sensors to make for a more pleasurable ‘back door’ experience.

Including self lubrication.

Markus watches clear liquid dribble between milky thighs and pokes a thumb at the pink pucker seal testingly. Connor fliches, along with his tail, which Markus can see now pops through a slit in the nylon fabric. 

Markus pokes, and purrs as his thumb enters wet suction. Holds himself in check for no more than a single, aching instance of drawing the digit in and out.

Then turns his hand and plunges two fingers inside ferociously.

Connor keens, then whines, and Markus keeps the motion fast and burning and punishing, enjoying how the fake cushion of Connor’s rear bounces and his thighs quiver, and how his head bends to duck between his arms. “Markus!” 

“Fuck baby,” Markus hisses back, gripping at the cusp of Connor’s knee, a bruising grip at the end of his pale thigh. Bruising, because Connor enjoys leaving the marks, even if they are normally well hidden, secret brands. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

“Ahh! Fuck, Markus!” Markus delves deeper, searching for that extra sensitive section of hot-end wires, and when he finds it, one of Connor’s legs jerks, though he steadies himself quickly. Rocking back eagerly as he sobs. His tail flailing it’s own non-verbal happiness. 

Markus abuses his prostate delightedly, determinedly, watching Connor pulse and choke as a third finger enters the sloppy, vice-tight, impossible to stretch cavern, brimming now with gushing slick, bludgeoning his sex with brutality. 

“Markuuusssss…” He thinks he sees the slip of saliva from Connor’s wailing mouth, splatting onto the chair, and Markus burrows deeper, pressing and ramming against the bulge of sensors, stretching on for minutes, until Connor suddenly squeaks and shudders and his whole body snaps tight and then pulses and unravels, orgasm wrenching as he whines out, “ _Oh!_ Oh, oh, ohhh...” 

And it’s like a spurting faucet that wets over Markus’ arm, through his suit jacket, bits of his face, the ground beneath.

“Gooood boy,” Markus doesn’t stop, kissing the cream-suede of one leg. “You’re such a good, good boy.”

“Ohhh,” The ears flatten as Connor quakes, “Ahhh, Markus… it’s, ah, a lot…”

“I know,” Markus kisses soft flesh again, “I know baby.” He’s aching himself, the bright furl of lust gripping his cock as it practically screams for touch within the cage of his pants, but he’s absolutely fascinated at how Connor’s tail is standing upright, pole stiff, jolting every so now and then at the battery against his prostate. And he unsheaths his synth-skin within Connor, pushing that awe and rapture and lust through a connection. Nothing but a sheer lascivious, agonizing desire to pulverate and demarcate and own, to set the boundaries of the world around Connor and identify the RK800 as nothing else but _his_.

And Connor is a tremoring mess, bowing under it. The carpet beneath them is a sticky pool from the deluge of slick, but in a few moments they’ll be the only ones able to see the stain anyhow. 

“You’re so hot baby,” Markus moans, their connection a bright white swelter burning through him and blistering through the wires of the android he so completely loves, so that tears begin to leak along Connor’s freckled cheeks. “So fucking hot.”

“I want,” Connor whines, “Please Markus, I want you inside. Please? _Please_?” Connor begs and whimpers, and it’s every bit as pitiful as a needy puppy, and it sounds just as much like him as when they regularly have sex, but there’s an animalistic need tainting it now. Almost like a mammalian heat.

And Markus can’t ignore the enormous, dewy brown pools over his shoulder that implore him to listen. “Okay,” He gasps, fingers pulling out, “Okay baby, just a second, alright?” 

He shakes to a stand, hands on knees, feeling dizzy, his head flooded with feedback in a rush, like when humans say they’ve stood too quickly or missed a step on the stairs, and he swims in the data momentarily, bending over Connor as a drape of hot, quivering skin. Hands steadying over thick paw-mittens.

Then he controls himself enough to free only his cock, the priceless beige suit already ruined. Released from fibrous manacles, it’s indulgingly thick and long, as unlike Connor his construction was spared no luxury; an appalling _‘just in case’_ never used before meeting Connor. 

And as Markus guides it forward and inside, the breach is that almost-painful viselike suction. The squelch of his dick entering is a dirty background track to the groaning ecstasy they both exhale, Connor squirming as his tail is pressed flat where it tries to flap, shuddering with every inch of cock that becomes sheathed. Markus pins the paws hands beneath his own again. Squeezes once reassuringly as he passes over that glorious frying-wires knot inside, promising more as he draws back slow and rocks forward steady. A mulling pace next to the barrage of his fingers.

“Markus,” Connor sighs, tucking his head back to nuzzle into the other’s neck. Not quite content, still pulsing with desire, but pleased, as Markus drags in and out through the coil of his impossibly small entrance. One ear makes a downy fold where it presses to Markus’ skin, and he’s going to thoroughly enjoy petting those appendages later. 

Washing Connor down in their tub, like an actual puppy dog. 

Connor’s hole is a clamp of silken velvet, moist and tight. It pushes Markus out almost as much as it greedily sucks him in, a paradoxical tandem that has him growling out a prolonged, “Fuuuuck,” against Connor’s ears. Connor whimpers in reply, somehow digging out a bit of that patience he so rarely has in sex to enjoy the lazy pace. 

The satin of the neck bow prickles Markus’ skin, and he wants to pull on it, but he doesn’t want to release Connor’s hand’s. 

So he snarls a bite into the ribboned synthetic throat beneath him instead, feeling skin give as he sucks a mark to life.

Connor trembles, holding himself still, for the most part, as Markus continues to have his way. Long, enduring bucks inside. Until, steadily, Markus grows hungry for the edge.

And then it is a furious zeal that takes him, reminds him of the fervid need that roils in his groin, hot through his sex, as he cants his hips forward with force, willing the noose of pink suckling flesh to open to him, accept his cock, even as it pincers back to needle-eye small with every pull back. 

Markus speeds up, rutting between clenching thighs and a clenching entrance, groaning against a white circle of chassis blooming across Connor’s throat from the meanness of his bite. His motions become savage, a burning drilling, as Connor yips and whimpers, sounds erotic and intoxicating. It’s a cruel pace, the splatter of various substances spilling between them, down Connor’s legs and stockings and Markus’ expensive pants. Their wet coupling a dirty, squelching sound as Markus violates every inch of Connor’s hole. Including a vicious promised pounding against his already too sensitive, sore prostate.

Markus rams forward, and Connor collapses somewhat, pulling a leg onto the chair to steady himself as he is taken. Gored, as he whimpers a repetition of, “Please--,” 

Wailing, as he’s dicked, like the Herald is the only that can answer his prayers for release. 

And Markus responds in turn, _”Connor--”_

“--oh fuck, please--”

_“--so fucking good, baby--”_

“--please, Markus--” 

_”--such a **good** boy for me--”_

“--Markus!”

Markus chases orgasm, biting new spots of revealed chassis into Connor’s neck and shoulders, impatient and maddened with lust, panting, hips hammering in cresting frenzy, feeling the edge, the lip of the glorious fall into _‘over’_ , and Connor rocks back and squirms and soaks them, so sopping wet that it’s a wonder how he’s not yet at climax already. And he’s pounding into Connor, and it’s rough, he knows it’s rough, but it’s in the delicious way, the peaking way, the one that pushes Connor to keen and whimper and writhe underneath him, ears flattening and quivering like they aren’t quite sure which emotion to express. And then--

\--just once more--

\--a last hip snap--

\--then bliss bursts through his sensors, and Markus can feel, where his lips connect to Connor, the sparking unison, as they come together, pulsing, crying out, the quiet of the room unable to swallow their volume, Connor a pewtering whine, Markus a long, drawn gush of a moan.

They thrum together, bucking several times as they respectively wind down from the crest, and Connor sinks into the chair and leans sweaty, damp hair against his hands as he lets out sobbing breaths. Keening again as Markus draws back for a moment to breathe, to get the cooling in that his systems so desperately need to prevent overheating, and his cock pulls free and everything sluices out in a sticky damp.

Then Markus follows Connor, kisses shaking shoulder blades. Scoops him out from under and into a curl on his lap, as Markus crumples into the chair. Feeling that unpleasant afterness of drying substances on his skin, but not really caring. Under the warmth of Connor and the soft pliance of satiation settling into his own frame, it’s a negligible ache. 

“Well that…,” he pauses, faltering for the right words, “...that was, interesting…”

Connor stirs against him, immediately fixated. Ears tall triangles. “Interesting?”

“Yeah, you know,” Markus gestures in a way that no one else on the planet could possibly know, “...Interesting.” He leans back and lets himself deflate into the fur, eyes closing. 

“...Did you like it?”

Markus peeks open an eye to consider the android before him, cool freckled mask slid over a still flushed expression.

A single, swivelling ear betraying his anxiety. 

“Connor...,” Markus looks at him fully. “ _Immensely_. That was amazing. Absolutely perfect.”

“Perfect?” Connor echoes. The words seem more agreeable to Connor, more aligned to praise, and Markus settles back, grinning.

“Yeah Connor. It was good,” Markus states with firmness.But Connor isn’t done yet. 

He shifts and leans, until Markus opens his eyes and looks into two pools of deep sienna, “...Was I good?”

There’s the agitated flicker of a tail in Markus’ periphery. 

Connor’s the picture of a dog having executed a successful trick, expecting a reward. 

He resolves that he is going to ask Connor about the AX400 who’d given him the idea later-- much later, after he drags his lover into the bath tonight and ravishes him until all the adoration he feels finally sticks in Connor’s needy little self-doubting head-- because he wants to thank her for finding some facet or crack in that demure glacier mask to pull this forbidden vice forth. 

“Connor,” Markus smirks, slightly exasperated as he strokes a hand finally through the fluff of thick curls, scruffing up silky ears, “Baby, you’ll _always_ be my good boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> So that's it! ¯\\_༼ ಥ ‿ ಥ ༽_/¯ hope someone enjoyed.
> 
> Tell me, do you guys like the verbal sound effects? Do they break away at all? Or would you just prefer to read groaned/moaned/whined?
> 
> At one point I wanted to have Markus be constantly interrupted by his almost sentient HUD being a backseat driver but decided against it as I just wanted to get to the smut. Puppy Ears!Connor is probably going to be a trope I will explore again, potentially a Neko!Connor too, and maybe a sequel to this where he finally gets some custom genitalia so Markus can pound him into a dual orgasm or something.
> 
> Mermaid! Connor RK1K has also been on my mind (๑ÒωÓ๑) so guess we'll see!
> 
> Thank you for reading and I'd appreciate any feedback/kudos!


End file.
